


Doxology

by helena_s_renn



Category: Def Leppard, Music RPF
Genre: Backstage, M/M, Multi, Pseudo-Incest, Recreational Drug Use, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Sex, idek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2018-09-13
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:20:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15678840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helena_s_renn/pseuds/helena_s_renn
Summary: They needed no altar but the one upon which they danced.Yeah, I AM saying a Def Leppard show is a religious experience, and not just for the audience.Hysteria era.





	Doxology

**Author's Note:**

> Doxology:  
> 1\. A liturgical formula of praise to God. (Oxford English Dictionary)  
> 2\. A doxology is a short hymn of praises to God in various forms of Christian worship, often added to the end of canticles, psalms, and hymns. (Wikipedia)
> 
> Am I comparing JE or any of them them to JC? Hell fucking NO. 
> 
> This is FICTION! As much as I'd like to, I don't believe it and neither should you.
> 
> Enjoy, while I finish tweaking the Rick!fic. He won't let me post it till he gets what he wanted.

-1988 

_Rock of Ages_  
_Rock of Ages_  
_Still Rollin'_  
_Rock'n'Rollin'..._

_Got the power, got the glory..._  
_And if you need it say yeah!_

 

The anthem of their travelling church, following its intrinsic prophetic word, rocked the place to the ground, to its bones, inspiring a chorus of orgiastic frenzy. In tatters and acid wash, the high priest stood spotlighted dead centre of a sold-out arena, their temporary cathedral, screeching the words. Sanctifying the masses with benedictions in expansive arm gestures, he sang directly to the nearest of the congregation. Body packed to body, a striving, pumping throng. Tongues to sing. Hands to wave, human chaff. Tiny flickering flames held in vigil. Thousands of people overwhelmed by the spirit of love and lust and need and want with tear-tracked faces upturned, fuelled his fire, fed his ravenous soul.

As the centrepiece of the show, as the focus and conduit, he felt his burden of responsibility the keenest. To keep the momentum, he needed the love and adoration of the many, and the few.

Lucky for him, he'd found it.

The musicians who wove the spell were just as important, perhaps more so. There were no acolytes here: every one of them, ministers in full standing. An army of three on the ground in tight jeans, silver and gold hung from necks and ears over naked gleaming chests, every one of them chosen for presentation as much as skill. Running, always running, their electrified strings and voices sang praise and glory on high. Ever-present cigarette smoke curled around their circular stage like incense. They needed no altar but the one upon which they danced. 

Behind them all, rhythm embodied, the boy whom they called a god.

All of the elements of their liturgy were second nature now. They lived off the excess energy: took what offerings were freely given unto them, gifted it back to the realm. 

Hour by hour, it built and built, that power running through their tied consciousness with fine-tuned adrenaline and a certain manic madness. It had to go somewhere. It had to out.

...

Joe always felt like this, like his heart would explode in his chest if he couldn't let the tension bleed off in the most primal way. He wasn't the only one. Backstage, barely out of the lights, bodies hit bodies, thudding against walls. Shoes and boots squeaked for purchase on the floor.

This was always how the spirit led them, after the principle ceremony. Those who tended to the logistics knew not to approach. 

Sav came at him, flew at him, jeans unbuttoned and the zip hell-bent on unleashing the burden behind it. Spinning, Joe slammed his back against the wall and himself against his front, friction-seeking, heat-seeking skin prickling with every contact. He threw his own ragged tank top to the floor. Sweaty belly met sweaty belly, not near enough of anything yet. Points above and below pulsed the coda of swollen sex and the need to anoint each other with their holiest of oils. 

"Fuck, Sav! Stop writhing like that or I'll come in my pants. You know what watching you shake your arse all over the stage does to me." Heavy breathing, a sexy groan, Sav made his stoned eyes wide and licked his lower lip, baiting him. Joe shoved proof against proof. Their studded belts scraped, locked, and he thrust against the bassist again. 

"Shut the fuck up and fuck, you two!" Phil barked from somewhere beyond Joe's angle of vision. "You weren't the one he was grinding on earli--." Two growls overrode him. The squeal that followed left nothing to the imagination. 

"Take it out," demanded Joe, but Sav had already dropped his kit, strewing more rags on the ground. He didn't get any more prep than for Joe to scissor in two fingers, finding slick and enough elasticity to breach.

That was all Sav needed. His fuzzy, multi-shaded hair shook with the efforts climbing Joe's body, knees and thighs gripping. "Please you gotta, please I need...!" He voiced what they all needed, the wedlock of brothers, body to body, flesh to flesh. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust - that was all that could ever separate them.

Joe, having unfettered himself with a sigh, sought and found and he was in. All the way. Now. Hard. Deep. Forget in and out, it was all push, push, his hand curved around Sav's hip only to keep him from scraping his arse raw on the rough surface of the wall. Bloody knuckles were easier.

Lights pierced the dim, reflected from the arena. Dangerously close to the offstage exit, he could see and hear Steve and Phil similarly engaged. A stray spotlight beam caught the ends of Steve's hair sparking a white-gold halo when he tossed his head. Already Joe could make out his tiny bare arse working hard, rhythmically, to keep Phil pinned to the side of the hallway as they fucked with all caution thrown to the wind. One booted and one be-socked foot were crossed just above. Metallic clinks of their undone belt buckles blended with the scaled down roar and occasional wolf-whistle from beyond.

He couldn't see him as much as feel him: Rick had retreated up the murky corridor, not far, watching. Benevolent, but Joe needed him connected and present somehow, if not paired with one of them in this moment. Reaching a hand out into the dark, he clasped the momentary warm grip. Just a squeeze, a barely-there brush with the thumb, then it slid away. He waited till a line then two were drawn on his outstretched limb and delicately consumed. 

Someone yanked his hair. Joe nearly lost his balance and jolted back into himself, rock hard and grinding, feet spread wide for leverage, pelvis thrust forward. All-powerful, that's what he was, that's how he felt. He fucked like he sang, building, varying tone, bending, looking here, squinting there, hand a cuffed fist before him, and finally howling a torrent of frenzied passion. Later his back would complain but right now, he felt nothing beyond the sweet agony and almost-there anticipation of ecstatic joy.

He flung the other arm out; this time Phil caught his wrist. The little blond was choking down his cries of satisfaction already. His grip might bruise, and Sav's, pull his hair till his scalp stung. Joe wanted the pain, to keep him in the here-and-now, hyper-alive.

Closer, closer, similar but unique repetitions furthered the end they all strove for. Steve glanced over through narrowed eyes, lips pressed together to keep from yelling. The space around them closed into their own sphere of harsh panting, breaths catching, and Sav's throaty little whines. He too was mesmerised by the two guitarists getting off on their fervent worship of each other in their sexual union. To get his attention, Joe finally reached between their animalistically humping bodies to lay his hand on the softest, hardest skin.

In one then the other, then the other, in three shades of blue he didn't need to see to _know_ \- ice, grey, sky - Joe picked up the lightning-flash phenomena he was himself trying to reach. The scent of Phil's spunk hit him first. Warm stickiness baptised his chest. Nails digging in, Sav gripped his shoulder hard, squeezed him harder from the inside. Steve's moan ended in his own small exorcism; at the last he buried his face in Phil's neck as he shook with effort and release. 

Witnessing the triune consummation pushed him over and Joe flew to heaven, jibberish and other words - low, modern and profane - flowing from his lips to speed his crash through the sound barrier. 

It was finished.

Up on his toes, he came, he spilled, tightened balls broke and overflowed the water and wine of his lust. There in the semi-dark, he poured out everything he was, eternal and timeless. The staggered chorus of their cries and his blessed the night's ending. Tension finally ebbed till he was nothing and no one, till he was Joe again, not the masthead of some flash cult but only a man.

Some would say they'd go to hell for this, all of them, for becoming the subjects of idolatry, for blasphemy, sodomy, drunkenness, spilling their seed and whatever Rick was snorting up his nose, which, no doubt, he'd share as soon as they converged upon him in the depths of this one-night sanctuary. None of them would confess any sin, for such insincerity begat only lies. No flesh would ever be mortified again except in pleasure. Their faith and love, strong as any zealot's without the sting of judgement upon others, lay in and for and of each other.

The public services performed for their legion of followers had been over the moment they'd left the stage the final time. The private had begun anew. Vestments were re-donned, kisses and lighthearted, unburdened laughter traded. The five of them limped away, up the corridor, supporting each other's fallible human flesh. Lighters sparked, trademark scent another layer to the lingering musk and myrrh, sweat and sex. One holy communion partaken; on to the next.

...the power  
And the glory  
Forever and ever  
Amen.


End file.
